


A Lover of the Lights

by euphorella



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphorella/pseuds/euphorella
Summary: Zuko comes to terms with the aftermaths of the war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda-sorta AU, disregarding only Zuko's coronation scene in the finale. Title, chapter breaks, and some of Iroh's dialogue are from Mumford & Sons songs.

**A Lover of the Lights**

* * *

_Your grace is wasted on your face,_

_Your boldness stands alone among the wreck._

* * *

The palace garden is a Zuko's personal spiritual place.

He sits by the pond, under the rowan tree, absentmindedly stroking the bandage that covered his new starburst scar. It is the second permanent mark inflicted by a family member, and he thinks,  _how lovely._

Distantly, he hears Aang and Toph shouting at each other, and wonders what they're up to. Judging by Toph's snickering and Aang's groaning, he figures they were sparring in the training arena. It had been only a week since the war has ended. How are they so… happy, after all they had been through?

_Then again_ , he realizes,  _they've always been oddly happy to begin with._

It is something Zuko is envious of—though he is reluctant to admit so—because, although they had their share of grievances, they find it quick to see silver linings. They aren't fully happy, of course—their losses were no different from his—but they are able to try.

In spite of that slight, selfish bitterness, Zuko smiles. As long as he hears his friends laughing, there is hope for the world.

"What on  _earth_  are you doing out here?"

_Speaking of hope…_

"Hi, Katara," he says dumbly, looking up to meet an angry pair of blue eyes.

"Don't 'hi Katara' me," the waterbender snaps. She is clad in blue, as usual. "I remember giving you specific instructions  _not_  to leave your bed."

Damage by lightning is no walk in the park. Katara may have healed most of the injury in the arena, but he was far from all right. However, being bedridden was  _not_  pleasant; it gives him a certain kind of isolation that makes him think of things he wills himself to forget.

So, Zuko remains silent, not saying anything. He feels her swat his hand away from the bandage.

"And don't touch the wound!" she says, her voice tinged with exasperation, as if she were berating a child. "Spirits, Zuko, how are you going to  _heal_  if you're just going to be stubborn all the time?"

He obeys her hand, promptly resting it on his lap. His silence starts to pierce through their comfort. It's  _terrible_ , and Zuko wants to say something, but what is there to say?

"Hey," Katara says, anger dissolving into gentleness. She sits cross-legged beside him. "You okay?"

He manages a raspy, "Yeah, I'm okay."

"I'm sorry for yelling," she says, lowering her gaze. Her irritation is resolved in an instant— _how like Katara_ , he thinks—and she looks at him, quietly: "I worry about you, you know."

"Yeah. I know. You shouldn't, though." He feels himself smiling a little. "It's my stubbornness that keeps me alive, remember?"

She chuckles. "Not if you keep running away from rest."

"Rest has been a ten-day confinement," he says. "No thanks. I'd rather be anywhere else."

"You always come here." It is a simple matter-of-factly observation—she found him there, after all, for the fourth time since his recent condition—and yet the words sound strangely intimate. He doesn't know why.

"This was Mom's favorite place in the palace. I remember feeding the turtleducks with her." There was a pause. "Azula tried to kill them, though."

Katara giggles.

"I… wasn't kidding," he frowns.

"Of course you weren't. It's  _Azula_  we're talking about. It's weird to think about, though, a 6-year-old wanting to kill fluffy things."

"You know what's even funnier?" Zuko says, attempting humor, but his throat started to feel like a desert. "A 6-year-old wanting to kill her brother."

If it was a joke, Katara does not acknowledge it. Her amusement drops abruptly, replaced by shock, then transitions to… what? Pity?

"Zuko…"

_Please don't look at me like that._ He shakes his head. "It was supposed to be light-hearted. Ah. Doesn't matter."

Katara always had something to say, whether it indicated reassurance, comfort, or merely an expression of her optimism. Today, she seems to be at a loss.

Lamely, she says, "You need to get back."

He nods, sparing his protests, and they walk out of the garden. It remains beautiful, undisturbed. But all the more, Zuko thinks, it remains sad.

* * *

_But I have seen the same,_

_I know the shame in your defeat._

* * *

 A day later, Iroh visits Zuko in his room, carrying a tray with a pot and two cups.

"Care for some ginseng, my nephew?"

Zuko finds himself craving for some company. It is the only thing that distracts him from his grievances. He gives his uncle a smile.

"Of course, Uncle."

Iroh sets the tray on his bed and sits on a stool beside the bed. (The stool is Katara's, actually, for healing sessions now and then.) Gingerly, he tilts the pot, and the cups are filled with the sweet scent of tea.

"So, how are you feeling now, Prince Zuko?" Iroh asks, taking a sip from his cup.

"I'm okay, I think. Katara's healing abilities are amazing. I don't know why she insists on letting me rest all the time, I'm practically immobilized. And I don't like it."

"It seems to me that Miss Katara is very concerned about your wellbeing."

"Of course she is. She's my friend."

"And your healer," Iroh says. "The reason you are alive."

"Yeah."

"Or the reason you could have died."

Zuko's startled eyes meet his uncle for a moment, then he forces himself to look back at his drink.

"…Yeah."

"Let me ask you something, Prince Zuko," Iroh says, his tone abrupt but stern. "Why did you not tell the Avatar or your friends?"

"Tell them what?"

"Your sacrifice."

Zuko swallows. It's true; he had spared them that detail for reasons he cannot think of. He is too tired to think of an excuse, so he answers: "I don't know."

It is honest, albeit vague. In fact, it is the most honest he could get.

"Sacrifice, in and of itself," Iroh says, almost reverently, "is legendary."

"See?" At that moment, a part of Zuko had burst. Suddenly he was saying things even  _he_  couldn't comprehend. " _That's_  the problem! If I tell them the truth—if I tell them that—it's going to be reduced to some sort of fairytale. The last thing I need is to be put on a pedestal!"

"What do you need, then, Prince Zuko?"

There is a long silence on his part.

"I don't know, Uncle," he admits finally.

And then he feels suffocated: because he has  _won_ , he has  _won_ in so many ways. He shouldn't have needed anything else after that. But there is pain that surges through his heart; a heavy kind of emptiness that he cannot seem to fill, no matter what he does.

"Then perhaps you should think about that."

* * *

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know,_

_My weakness I feel, I must finally show._

* * *

 "Zuko?" a muffled voice calls behind his door. It's Katara, as usual. She opens his door, peering carefully before she enters.

"Hi."

Katara throws herself in the bed beside him, and he scoots to give her space.

"I brought you candies."

"The spicy ones?"

"Yup." She throws a couple of little foil-wrapped squares on his bed. "I thought they might make you feel a little better."

Zuko unwraps one and pops it into his mouth. He clumsily props himself up to sit, his back against the headboard.

"Thanks, Katara."

The firebender and waterbender sat side by side, reveling in momentary silence. It is the comfortable kind—one that Zuko is growing fond of, as sometimes he renders words useless. He gives her a sidelong glance, and she gives him a small, tender smile. For a moment there, the world is fine. They are fine.

If things are like this all the time, they will be fine.

"All righty, Fire Princey," Katara says. She pulls out the wooden stool below his bed and seats herself there. "Time for your healing."

He complies, gently taking his top off, and Katara helps him strip off the bandages. It is their nightly routine: Katara comes for his healing sessions, and sometimes she stays longer, providing him random anecdotes of the day. Sometimes, she talks about the things on her mind, serious or silly. It is Katara who does most of the talking; it is Zuko who listens more often. He doesn't mind, though.

He lays, back sinking into the red linen. Then, Katara opens her water skin and summons the water through gloved fingers. Her hands hover delicately above his chest for a moment, as if probing, before she presses them gingerly onto the scar.

The healing process is an odd sort of relief; Katara's hands were soft and comforting, the water is warm and silky. He is not sure if it is her ability that comforts him, or the fact, in itself, that it was Katara who does the comforting. Zuko feels his wound pulse and close, until the dull ache begins to fade, and the world rights itself.

"Okay," Katara removes her gloves. "Done."

"Thanks. I feel better."

"Good." Katara hesitates for a moment, but before she could stop herself, she tells him: "I'm glad I'm here."

"You… are?" He loses himself for a moment. He supposed he knew that much, but it's still reassuring to hear  _her_  say it, after all they've been through. "I am, too."

"It's a nice break from everyone. And honestly, you're pretty good company."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"Wow, it's the highest honor to hear  _you_  say that." She smirks. "Thanks, Fireboy."

"Anything for my personal healer."

"You mean your favorite."

"That, too. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

They both giggle at themselves. Playful banters are quite new to Zuko—Azula's teasing was  _not_  playful in any way—and he realizes that it is healthy to laugh at yourself sometimes.

"They ask about you a lot, you know," Katara says, the humor gone in her face. "Aang and the others."

"Oh?"

"They really care about you, Zuko."

"I know."

"I wish you'd let them see you."

To this, he doesn't answer. Because he doesn't have one, not really. Lately, he realizes that it was harder and harder to explain things to himself, let alone to others. He hasn't seen his friends since he had first woken up from his injury, and his mind formulates,  _I can't let them see me like this._ He knows he is selfish for being unhappy despite everything. For once he thinks that his lightning injury is of use: at least he has a reason not to go out and celebrate.

There is another deafening silence; it is not the one they both loved, it is heavy and foreign. When Zuko is bothered by something, he  _rages_. He outwardly lets himself manifest his troubles.

This silence is new to her, and only now does she realize that he is building new walls. After those she'd torn down—and the walls of her own that  _he'd_  torn down—she didn't want new ones.

It  _hurts_  her; Zuko knows it. And he knows it is the last thing he wants.

"If you let me out of bed tomorrow," he tries, "I could join you guys for dinner."

"You know that's out of the question." Her voice is distant, but scolding.

"Come on. The food they bring me gets cold every time. And it's lonely eating alone."

After a moment of deliberation, she gives a sigh. "Okay," she says. "Okay. You win."

He beams and she beams back; his is filled with gratitude, hers with tenderness. She squeezes his shoulder one last time before heading to the door.

"Good night, Katara," he whispers as she leaves.

* * *

  _I'll find strength in pain_

_And I will change my ways._

* * *

 Zuko is a little calmer when Iroh visits for tea the next afternoon.

"I'm glad you are finally joining your friends for dinner," he says gleefully, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Perhaps you do need a break from your mind."

"Believe me, Uncle, I know I do."

"It is not so easy to get rid of, though."

"I know that, too."

"And you cannot keep sweeping your sorrows under the rug for the rest of your life."

Zuko understands. He fingers his scar through the bandages again; for some reason, it feels old. When Ozai marked him, Zuko did not think:  _How could my father do this to me_. All he had thought was:  _What now? I need to do my duty; I need to carry on._  He never had the time—or the willpower—to dwell on the implications of the baggage that his scar carried.

"Zuko, stop touching your wound."

Immediately Zuko retreats his hand; it had become a rather bothersome habit, even to himself.

"It's not fair," he mutters angrily. "It's not fair. Why do I have all these injuries—all these  _scars_ —if the things I've been doing all this time are the right things?"

"You answered your own question, Prince Zuko. Your scars do not reflect defeat." Iroh's gentle gaze lands on his stunned nephew. "You have them, because you made your choices. These choices are what make man great—his ladder to the stars."

Ozai's mark stands for Zuko's concern for his countrymen; Azula's mark stands for Katara's life. And he thinks, for once, he is in the light. He is not weak, nor cursed.

Zuko feels himself smile.

* * *

_The ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue,_

_But we'll live a long life._

* * *

 Suki is the first to see him from his two-week absence.

"Oh, spirits, Zuko!" She rises up from the table to give him a brief hug. "It's so nice to see you here!"

"It  _is_  good to be back," he murmurs. "Where's everybody?"

Before Suki could answer, he hears Katara's voice behind him, laden with annoyance. He turns and sees her leaning on the doorframe.

" _Hey!"_

"What'd I do this time?" He asks, genuinely confused.

"What are you doing here?!"

"I thought… you said I could join for dinner!"

"Didn't I  _specifically_  tell you to wait for me?"

"Er… no."

Katara's face reddens in humiliation and Suki suppresses a giggle.

"Well, I assumed you'd know as much!"

"Katara, it's fine! I can walk on my own!"

Her answer is a mere scoff and she seats herself beside Suki. "He's looking a lot better now," the Kyoshi Warrior whispers. "Don't worry too much."

Katara shoots him one more look, her eyes filled with annoyance.

"Well?"

"…Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

"Uh. Right."

When he settled himself in front of the warrior and the (glaring) waterbender, Suki resumes their conversation. "The others are still out. I'm just here because," she shrugs, "I couldn't think of anything to do."

"That's… unlike you," Zuko observes. Suki isn't one for boredom.

"Uh-huh. Being cooped up in such a big place isn't so fun after all, is it?"

"I hear you," he says with a chuckle.

Across him, Katara rests her elbow on the table and huffs. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"What was?"

"This," she says crossly. "I didn't tell anyone you'd be coming. I thought it might make them happier."

Zuko suddenly understands Katara's scowling at his getting out early. Then again, it's not like she told him ahead of time—so he couldn't rightfully take the blame for ruining the 'surprise.' Still, he feels a little guilty.

"Hey," Suki says, reassuringly, "it still is, though. I mean, they still don't know."

"I know, but I wanted to bring him personally. It would be nicer if everyone's already here. And then we can—"

Katara's ranting is cut short by the sound of booming footsteps outside the dining hall, followed by loud, muffled voices.

"Wait… is that—"

" _Sparkyboy!"_

In five seconds the hall is scrambling with rambunctious kids. Toph beats them in the race; she throws her arms around the Fire Prince in a tight bear hug. Aang on his air scooter is a close second and Sokka is the last one to engage in the group mini-reunion.

" _Ow!_  Guys, I can't breathe!"

"Oh, shut up," Toph says, hugging him tighter.

"Guys!" Katara cries over the commotion. " _Please_  be careful! He has a wound on his chest!"

The three disentangle themselves from Zuko, who, despite his protests, looks very pleased.

"Oh, lighten up, Sugar Queen," Toph says. "Don't you see? He's okay."

The worry in Katara's eyes dissolve as soon as she sees Zuko's smile: it is tender and one she doesn't see very often, not even before the final battle. It's comforting— _no_ , invigorating.

She smiles softly.

. . . . . .

With permission from his personal healer, he is allowed to wander the garden for a few minutes. ( _"And then get back inside immediately after some 'fresh air.' You hear me, Mister?"_ )

Zuko joined dinner mainly to relieve Katara's concern, but it didn't exactly occur to him that it would be good for him too. In fact, he thought the opposite—that he is going to spend that night drained and emotionally exhausted—but the world likes proving him wrong.

It was wonderful. Toph was, well, Toph: she is brash and sarcastic, but she always  _means_ what she says. So when she said, "It's been kind of sad without you," Zuko took it to heart. (Then she promptly punched his arm:  _"Don't_ ever _make me say that again."_ )

And when Aang tells him random stories about the week he was gone—from Momo to his new "Sifu Iroh"—he knows Aang is genuinely glad to see him. Zuko never thought it possible, but he realizes he is quite fond of the boy despite their many differences. It is through differences, he realizes, that he manages to work his way around the world. Aang had been one of the best teachers for that.

Sokka is, as usual, loud and rowdy. All he ever talked about was sparring, meat, and the Fire Nation fruits. There had been no change at all with the warrior. Perhaps that is for the better. Besides—

"Zuko?"

The firebender turns to see the call that cut him off from his reverie. Sokka is at one of the pillars, walking towards him with a solemn expression on his face.

"Uh, hey," Zuko says, uncertainly.

"I thought I might find you here." The warrior reaches his side and leans against the tree.

"Did Katara send you?"

"No."

"Oh. How'd you find me?"

"Katara told me you like coming here," Sokka mumbles. "She tells me lots of things."

Zuko isn't sure of what the words implied, but he feels alarmed nonetheless. "She does?"

"Yeah." Sokka folds his arms across his chest and looks straight into Zuko's eyes. The latter visibly crumples in anticipation.

"Listen…" Sokka trails off. "I want to thank you."

"…For what?"

"Well, many things, but I'll start with saving my sister's life."

The prince's suspicion is confirmed.

"It's nothing," he tries awkwardly, but Sokka shakes his head.

"Look, I'm not stupid. That was  _not_  nothing. That was everything. At least to Katara, and to me, and probably to everyone else if they knew."

Zuko's perplexity is visible. "They don't know?"

"I don't think so. Katara told me when we were alone. I think she realized you didn't want to tell anyone."

"Oh. Okay," he stammers and clears his throat. "That's good."

"Yeah. And, um, it's not the first time you risked your life saving my family… so, there. Thank you for… everything. I guess."

"It was the least I could do, Sokka. Believe me." It is true: for all his family's long list of wrongdoings, it  _was_  the least he could do. There is a tone of affirmation that wasn't there before.

But the Water Tribe boy shakes his head.

"No, it was not the  _least_. It's more than we can ever ask for."

"I'm glad it counts."

"It does." Another minute passes by before Sokka speaks again. "Hey, Zuko?"

"Yes?"

"Have you been avoiding us?"

Zuko winces at the warrior's words. "Not really," he admits. "Not like that. Not  _avoid_ -avoiding, but—"

"It's okay, I'm not taking it personally."

"Good," Zuko sighs. "It's just—I don't know. I just can't handle being with anyone right after everything. We've gone through a lot, and I guess I just need to sort that out with myself first."

"We've all seen things we wish we hadn't," Sokka confesses, looking at the moon. There is a tinge of melancholy in his voice, but a firm determination in his eyes. "But I'm glad it's over. In a way, we're all okay… maybe we'll never be completely at peace, but we're  _okay_ , and that's already a lot to ask for. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Zuko says. "I know exactly what you mean."

Silence passes over them, and it is not as familiar as the silence he shares with Katara, but it certainly is pleasant enough.

Distantly, inside the palace, Katara's voice broke it.  _"Sparky! Time's up!"_

"Well, there goes my night," Zuko sighs. He turns to the pillar near the entrance, the warrior closely trailing behind him.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you."

"What's that?" Both men had stopped walking.

"Uh… my sister," Sokka stammers. "You'll have to forgive her for being so fussy and motherly."

"Don't worry about it," Zuko says. "She's Katara. That's just the way she is."

"True, but it's not just like that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there's something more to that than Katara being bossy. Even when Aang was hit by Azula's lightning, she was caring, all right—but not as fussy as this. Because she feels… different, with your scar, I mean. Because, um…"

"Different?"

Before Sokka could elaborate, Katara calls Zuko's name again—forcefully, this time—and the men had no choice but to waste no second getting inside.

* * *

  _And where you invest your love,_

_You invest your life._

* * *

 "Wow, that's a lot faster than yesterday," Zuko says as Katara helps him wrap the fresh muslin around his torso.

"Uh-huh. You're getting better."

"Told you that dinner would do me good."

"It really did, didn't it?" Katara's voice is laden with pleasure.

"Yeah. I didn't even realize I missed them  _that_  much." A hopeful smile crosses his face. "Does this mean I get to go out now?"

"I don't know," she frowns. "I don't want you to reopen the wound."

"Katara, don't you worry about me," he says, remembering Sokka's words. He doesn't know what the Water Tribe boy meant by that, but it certainly meant that Katara worried for him  _more_  than the others, and he figured that meant something. "I'm fine."

"You're fine?" she snaps. She is suddenly filled with indignation and disbelief. "It took Aang  _weeks_  to recover completely from Azula's lightning. And I used spirit water for that—"

"But I was able to redirect some of Azula's lightning," Zuko pushes on. "It didn't  _fully_  affect me like—"

"I don't care! You almost died, Zuko. If I hadn't been able to save you in time, you would've  _died_ —"

"—but you  _did_ , Katara—"

"—and it's because of me!"

Zuko's jaw snaps shut as Katara continues. All anger is drained from her face, replaced by something he couldn't quite place. Her voice is strained like she's holding tears back. "Don't you see?  _I've_  subjected you to all this. It's my fault you're in bed, and feeling helpless, and if—if I didn't reach you on time, then—"

"That's what this is about?" Zuko asks, halting her confessions. "You think you're the reason for all this?"

Katara doesn't answer, and it suddenly occurs to him that he's never thought of the receiving end; Katara's side of the incident. All that mattered was  _I saved her life, and she saved mine_ , and a meaningful friendship that was founded on that. The rest was history. She concealed herself so well (better than him, even) that he doesn't see the self-blame and the guilt beneath her exterior. Something tugs in his heart.

"Katara, none of this is your fault," he says carefully. His thumbs wipe the lone tear that escaped her face. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she does. Blue meets gold—guilt and pain and uncertainty into firmness and gentleness and resolution. She touches his hand, the one on her face, and bites her lip.

"Taking that lightning for you was my  _choice_ , Katara. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You…" she gulps. Then she squeezes his wrist and flicks it away. "You are  _so dumb_. So  _dumb,_  Zuko! You never think things through!"

A flash of anger is there again, and Zuko sits unmoving, certainly  _not_  expecting this reaction.

"What if I wasn't able to save you, though? You think I have a vial of spirit water everywhere I go? Do you realize what could have happened, what you would have done to everyone and to  _me_  if you—"

"—but I didn't—"

"And, now what? Are you going to do that every time we face an enemy? You're just going to lunge yourself at anyone who tries to attack me?"

"Dammit, Katara, I  _wanted_  to save you!" His frustration is rising _,_ because Agni damn it, what did she  _want_  him to do? "I'd have saved you to death—"

"Which is exactly  _my point_ , Zuko! I will not let anyone die again for my sake!" Katara is full out crying now, and he abruptly snaps his mouth shut, uncertain of what to say. " _Especially_  not you!"

A trail of heavy breathing follows, and Zuko still doesn't dare speak.

"I've seen enough sacrifices in my lifetime to know what they're worth," she says, her voice shaky. "And I'll forever be grateful to you, I swear, but—but—believe me, if you…"

She shakes her head and wipes her tears with her sleeve. "I can't lose you, not like that. Not when we're just starting to be friends, not when I'm just starting to know you, not when everything's just beginning for you…"

He doesn't know how to react to that—of course he's glad she thinks of him as someone  _that_  important—but he cannot bear to see her so guilty, unrightfully so.

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

"Spirits, Zuko,  _please_  don't apologize for anything. You don't owe me anything, least of all an apology."

" _You_  don't owe me anything, Katara," Zuko says. "Least of all an apology."

She is taken aback by this, but he only cups her cheek and she impulsively leans into his palm.

"The important thing is we're okay," he says, remembering Sokka's words. "Maybe never completely okay, but we won and we all made it out alive. That's more than we can ever hope for, I think."

She nods. He's right: all that matters is that they're  _okay_ , and that's already a miracle in itself. Katara allows herself a smile.

Then, reluctantly, she asks: "Are you happy, Zuko?"

"What?"

"Are you happy?" She repeats. It is a simple question, one that he doesn't want to answer, but something in her tone made Zuko want to be honest.

"No. I'm not." His hand falls from her cheek and onto his side; his gaze focuses on his lap. "I don't know what's wrong with me for feeling this way, because we got all we wanted, but…"

He trails off, because he can no longer muster an answer.

"That's okay," she says quietly. "We never expected you to be."

Zuko's eyes land on hers; it is his turn, this time, to look uncertain.

"They're the reason we're all suffering. My father is a heartless bastard and he deserves to  _rot_  in prison—he deserves to rot in  _hell_ , even," he seethes, his voice laced with anger. "My sister treated me like a farm animal, because all she ever cared about was herself and my demon of a father, and now she's locked up in an asylum, and yet…"

He shakes his head, unable to say more.

"Hey," Katara says softly. "It's okay. It's not selfish to feel sad. Because as much as you hated them, you still care about them."

"I don't see how that's any good."

"Because it shows you're  _different_  from them, Zuko. Because you are not your father or your sister." Gently, she lifts his face to meet her eyes. "Because you are above them, in so many ways. Give yourself some credit, and admit that things hurt. You'll never be happy unless you allow yourself some closure."

He nods, and he intertwines his hand with hers.

"Thank you," he says, "for understanding."

"You'll be okay." Katara sounds so sure of herself this time that he can't help but believe her.

"Yeah."

"And you'll do really great things and you can dump it on Ozai's face, even if he'll never admit it."

He chuckles. "You're right."

Suddenly, she kisses his cheek, her lips fleetingly brushing his scar. It is over before it began, though; he can only manage a flinch of surprise.

"What—what's that for?"

"Oh, nothing," she's blushing but smiling. "That's your 'thank you' from me."

For a moment he is still stunned, but then he erupts into laughter. It's almost the first time she hears him, and she decides it suits him a lot. She joins him, heartily—and they don't even know what they're laughing about—but it feels right. This feels right, whatever  _this_  is.

And maybe Zuko does need time to heal, because acceptance is not as instantaneous as spirit water. But as long as he haves the people he loves—from Uncle to Aang, to Sokka to Toph, to  _Katara_ —he'll manage.

He doesn't stop to think what he's about to do.

"This is your 'thank you' from me."

He leans down and kisses her.

It is so sweet and gentle, so definitively  _Zuko_ , and Katara adds  _this_  to the list of the things she's grateful to him for.

* * *

_It's not the long walk home that will change this heart,_

_But the welcome I receive at every start._

* * *

 At the sun's rising, Iroh is awake. ("You firebenders are  _so weird_ ," Sokka had said then, earning a chuckle from Iroh.) The older man knows, though, that waking up to the very beginning of the day is advantageous.

"Prince Zuko," he says as he spots a shadow of a man in the training arena. "You are up."

The younger firebender nods. "Good morning, Uncle."

"As glad as I am to see you out here, you might want to lay low, lest Master Katara sees you."

"Oh, don't worry," Zuko says, unusually cheerful. "We kind of settled that already."

Iroh raises a brow to this.

"Zuko, is there anything you wish to tell me?"

"Well, nothing really," Zuko says. "Except, I guess… thank you."

Zuko doesn't need to elaborate, because Iroh understands.

"You are most welcome, my nephew."

. . . . . .

When Aang finds Zuko in the arena in a meditating position, he panics.

"Zuko, Katara's going to  _kill_  you," the young monk says.

"Oh, she gave me permission last night."

"Really? She  _let_ you?"

"Yup."

"All right!" Aang whoops. "Well, shouldn't we start just—"

"Oh, no, I can't. Katara's going to  _kill_  me."

"Then… why are you here?"

"To watch you train, of course."

Aang's face pales. "Watch m-me… train?"

"Yup," Zuko says, smirking. "You've been 'training' with my uncle, right?"

The firebender knows that 'training' meant making silly patterns dance in the air—and occasionally setting a shrub on fire—but Zuko merely says this to watch the great Avatar crumple in fear of his firebending teacher. Zuko is not known for his patience towards his pupil; if he finds out that Aang hasn't been taking his training seriously, the poor boy would be subjected to fifty hotsquats.

But of course it was all in good fun. He raises his good brow and says, "Well? My uncle isn't here yet. Why don't you show me what you've got?"

"Um…"

"Hey, Twinkletoes! There you are!" Before Aang could demonstrate anything Toph had appeared in the arena. "Hey, Hotpants."

He ignores his new nickname. "Hi, Toph."

"Breakfast is ready." She motions for them to go inside. "Let's go before Sokka finishes anything."

"All  _right_!" Aang yelps, and he's off in his air scooter, leaving Zuko and Toph behind.

"Well, you're out early," Toph says.

"I rise with the sun. It's a firebender thing."

The two benders walk towards the dining hall, following Aang's trail of whooping.

"Listen, Grumpboy," Toph says (earning a groan from Zuko this time). "I don't really know how you're doing, but it's nice seeing you in a good mood for a change."

"Oh," Zuko stammers. "Good to know."

"I'm just happy we finally get to sit down and just hang out. I need this. War is hard work!"

"Tell me about it."

"Change is good, you know?"

When they reach the hall, everyone is already seated in their respective places. Immediately at the sight of him, Katara beams widely.

"I know."

* * *

_Call me home,_

_And I will build a throne._

* * *

  **Fin.**

 


End file.
